So THIS Is Moody, Eh?
For the past few weeks, I just keep getting crankier and crankier. Cranky isn't the right word. Scary-bitchy might be more descriptive! Anyone reading this who knows me also knows I do not have a bitchy bone in my body. But suddenly, thanks to Tamoxifen, I've turned into Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. YIKES!
A couple of weeks ago, Kathy and I were at Target. I was trying to back out of my parking spot but people kept walking behind me at the last minute, forcing me to stop. It was crazy; as soon as it looked clear and I started to back up, someone would run forward with a two-year old in tow. Finally, I turned to Kathy, my eyes glowing red, and said, "I am backing up now. If they don't want me to run over their children, they better hang on to them! I don't care who I kill!"
We drove about ten miles in absolute silence after that.
The other day I was cooking dinner and had two messy soup cans that I needed to scrub out before putting in with the recycling. I'm Little Miss Recycling at home and I probably annoy Kathy at times with the lengths I'll go to, in order to recycle an item. But that night, I looked at the goopy cans, said, "@$!# recycling!" and threw them in the trash. Kathy looked at me, eyes wide, and said, "What's your doctor's phone number again?" She said that of all the weird behavior I've demonstrated, that was the moment when she was sure something was really wrong.
It's hard to say what will set me off, but once I'm triggered, fangs seem to descend and I can barely stay in my skin, I'm that tense. The worst part (to me) was this week when we put up the Christmas Tree. We have an artificial tree because I'm allergic to real ones. Ours happens to very time-consuming to assemble; in the best of moods, it's a test of patience. With Scary Alix at the helm, the atmosphere in the room was a little too electric to be safe. I insisted on putting the tree together myself, then swore like a sailor and stomped around as I did it. At one point, Kathy put her boys into her bedroom. Believe it or not, I turned to her and snarled something like, "What? Were you afraid I'd hurt the cats?"
Oh, my. Do you believe it? I'm talkin', off-the-deep-end Alix. Sheesh.
In the past, I've referred to myself as moody and friends have said, "Oh, no, you're not moody." Now I get it. THIS is moody. Knowing that it is a side effect of Tamoxifen doesn't really help. I only hope this is transitory, because I cannot live five years of my life as a new bitchy me. That's just creepy.
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